


You only need one person in this world

by 10k_au



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8496883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10k_au/pseuds/10k_au
Summary: Reader finds 10k when he washes up on the shore.





	

The river ran clear, specks of sunlight dancing on the surface as if only performing for you. You pulled the filtration fabric over the rim of a bottle and then stretched it tight. You shook it under the water for a while, filling it slowly. It was easy to get lost how beautiful days like these were. It almost made you forget how shitty the world was in general. 

There’s a sound like splashing down river, you crane your neck to see some people moving around hurriedly on the weir bridge, but nothing unusual. Shrugging, you go back to collecting water. You do this happily until another sound stirs you. Only a few yards away, a figure stumbles out of the rushing water, spluttering and gasping. You screw the lid back onto your bottle and quickly slide it into a pocket in your bag, hiking it over your shoulder and hurrying over to the boy’s side. By the time you reach him, he’s fallen to the ground, face in the sand, limbs splayed.

You drop to your knees beside him and put two fingers to his neck, finding a weak but present pulse. With a sigh, you put your bag back down and go about searching his body for injury. There’s no way that he could have been washed up on the bank without some kind of wound or..

“Well damn” You mutter. Blood is soaking into the sand under his torso. You carefully turn him bit by bit until he’s on his back and rest his cheek back down onto the ground so he doesn’t choke. Then with gentle hands you push up his shirt, the wound on his stomach is bad. Really bad. It looks like a bullet wound, but its open and torn, weeping at the edges. You frown and open your bag, pulling out a spare strip of material and using a little of your filtered water to dampen it. Then you dab softly at the laceration. Blood bubbles a little with every breath that raises and lowers his stomach.

“stop”

The sound is so quiet that you almost miss it. You pause and look up into the kid’s face. He’s looking down at you, pain screwing up his features. You tilt your head to the side, letting him know that you don’t understand.

“Stop” He coughs again, a little blood appearing on his lips. “Don’t touch me.”

You put a hand on his shoulder, attempting to comfort him.

“It’s okay” you reassure him. “I’m going to help you.” You continue to clean the tear in his skin and then you pull a wire and needle out of the back pocket of your pack. The boy watches you with drowsy eyes.

“Where did you get that” he asks on a slur as you prepare it to suture him up. You smile a little, not surprised at his curiosity.

“A deserted hospital a few hundred miles north” you tell him, “This is going to hurt a lot” You push the needle through his skin, across the gash and into the other side. His body tenses up and he lets out a cry that you wince at. Sound is never good in the apocalypse, it either attracted Zombies or humans, and you didn’t know which was worse. Instead of shushing him, you decide that a distraction is a better move.

“What’s your name?” you ask, pushing the needle through again. He bucks up, but doesn’t make a sound this time, gritting his teeth instead.

“Ten thousand” he mutters “But my friends call me 10k.” You roll your eyes but decide not to ask, sewing quicker now, hurrying to beat infection.

“Can I call you 10k?” you ask quietly. There’s silence for a moment and then he makes a groaning sound as you pull the wire holding him together taut. You look across at his face again and then he nods. So you’re his friend. You grin again, shaking your head.

You have a dwindling supply of bandages, but you reckon that now is the time to use one. You pull it free and flatten it out over him, securing it with a piece of fabric wrapped around his waist. You pull his top back down over it and then pat his chest.

“All done.”

“What’s yours” he drawls, still not completely with you.

“Y/N” you tell him, “Nice to meet you” You pack up your bag carefully and when you look back to him, his eyes have slid shut, a thin sheen of sweat across his brow. You growl a little under your breath and then press the back of your hand against his forehead, finding his temperature soaring way above where it should be.

“Fuck.” You curse. You scrabble into your bag again, searching for your last Oxy. You crush it up with your fist and pulling 10k’s mouth open, you pour it into his mouth. You follow it with a few drops of water to wash it down. After that you spare a little more to cool his pulse points across his neck and down his chest. His eyelids flutter and he moans in his unconsciousness.

“It’ll be okay” you whisper, brushing his choppy black hair back from his face. Something catches your eye, floating on the water. A bag, betting that it’s his, you pick up a branch and squat at the water’s edge, hooking the satchel out of the depths. It’s heavy with water and falling apart when you hold it, but it’s filled to the brim with syringes. You look from it to 10k and back, trying to figure it out.

Perhaps he’s diabetic? Maybe he has an allergy. Whatever it is you bet that he needs one of these shots. You pick one out and carefully slide the needle into the skin on the underside of his elbow, pressing down the plunger, you’re glad to find that he doesn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to whatever is inside it. You secure the bag and put it down next to him, before sitting back down and crossing your legs, taking one of his hands in yours.

The men are still on the bridge down river. One of them points towards you and you turn your back on them. 10k needs to get better soon, he needs to get moving or he won’t get a chance to recover fully. He probably won’t get a chance to live.

“Come on 10k” you mumble “come on.”


End file.
